


The Extraordinary

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [276]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Feelings, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Schmoop, Telepathy, X-Men: First Class (2011), mild dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Rage will only get you so far. But where it will get you is this:Pinned in clean sheets in Minneapolis, Minnesota, a town Erik’s never thought of visiting before, never needs to again, because he’s been here with Charles above him, blue eyes dark with triumph and hair turned black by sweat, his skin blazing where it meets Erik’s and in all those other places that right now, Erik isn’t allowed to touch.





	The Extraordinary

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched _X-Men: First Class_ last night for the first time in forever, and...

Rage will only get you so far. But where it will get you is this:

Pinned in clean sheets in Minneapolis, Minnesota, a town Erik’s never thought of visiting before, never needs to again, because he’s been here with Charles above him, blue eyes dark with triumph and hair turned black by sweat, his skin blazing where it meets Erik’s and in all those other places that right now, Erik isn’t allowed to touch. 

“Oh,” Charles says, sitting back against Erik’s thighs. HIs grin is incendiary. “I do like that, very much. What a pretty picture you make.”

Erik’s voice feels thin in his teeth. “Spread like a whore?” he gets out. “Powerless before the mighty Charles fucking Xavier? Is that what you want from me?”

Charles’s head bows and he trails his fingers up Erik’s ribs, over his armpits, around the curves of his elbows and across the soft, crossed skin of his wrists where they lie--where Charles’ mind is holding them--stretched just above the crown of Erik’s head.

“It’s what you want, darling,” the man murmurs. “And I told you--I’ll tell you again: that’s all right. There’s nothing wrong with wanting me like this.”

His back arches and his mouth, that traitorous bastard, lets out a sound he doesn’t want Charles to hear, that he needs him to, now and every day of his life.

“Yes,” Charles says, not so softly now. “That’s right. You never have to hide your desires from me, Erik. You can’t use them to push me away.”

“I _know_ ,” Erik spits. “So shut up and fuck me already.”

Charles’s nails catch in Erik’s palm, dig deep, and Erik closes his eyes, he has to, rather than bear witness to the affection on Charles’s face. “I will, when I’m ready. And not a goddamn second before, do you understand me?”

A deep breath, the breathless feeling of his cock trapped against Charles’s body. The awful, beautiful sensation of trusting someone this much, of wanting to. “Yes,” he whispers. “Charles, yes.”

“Good.” Charles sounds unsteady, too, tastes that way when he bends down and fits their mouths together. “Keep telling me that, darling, when I do something you like. You must do that for me now more than ever. Do you understand?”

He does. God, does he, though he can’t find the words. Not with Charles caging him like this, with their cocks brushing, with the fire in Erik’s body sensing its match, at last.

He wants to be clutching at Charles’s hair and grabbing at the globes of his ass. He wants to be pulling until their hips are perfectly aligned, until he can feel the tip of Charles’s pretty fat dick kissing the entrance to his body, the one hole in him that he’s found a way to fill. 

He can’t do any of it, not right now, not like this. And he’s so fucking glad.

“I love how tense you get,” Charles is saying in his ear. “The way every part of you trembles when we go to bed. The way your arms shake when you hold me, the way your hips do when I nuzzle your cock. Like you want everything so badly and that you’ll terrified every moment that I’m going to stop.”

“Shut up.”

“No.” Teeth on his neck, a steady rock against his hips. “I want you to understand what I see when I look at you.” Charles cups his neck and tips their foreheads together. He smells like cigarettes and Erik’s own sweat. “You, my darling, are the most beautiful thing.”

“Charles--”

The weight on his body grows firmer. The pinned sensation spreads to his hips. “You’re not going to fight me on this. You can’t, can you? Not when I’m holding you down. Not when you’re helpless. Not when you want me to be inside of you so badly that, if I asked you, you’d be willing to say anything, do anything, if it meant you could get fucked.”

Erik strains at the hold, the one he asked Charles to put there, and he can’t break free. He knows that he can’t. He knows that Charles won’t let him. 

“Oh, yes,” Charles says. He sounds as tattered as Erik feels, as thin, ribbons left out in the sun. “Try all you like. You’ll only wear yourself out. I’m not going anywhere until I get what I want.”

“Then take it. I’m tired of hearing you talk about it.” 

Charles laughs, a warm breeze in Erik’s ear. “No, you’re not. You’re rather enjoying it, actually. Which is the whole point of this, is it not?”

“No. The point of this is for you to be inside me.”

Now Charles is the one who shivers. “Don’t tempt me. You’re not ready for me.”

“Then stop talking and get that little bottle and fucking stretch me so I can take you until you lose it.” He bites at Charles’s cheek, the only flesh he can can touch. “I want to feel your come on my thighs, Charles. I want you to pull out after you come in my ass and watch your seed slide down my skin.”

“ _Jesus_.”

Erik bucks against the hold again because the world is in that word, the weeks and weeks of want, of that other, rarer fire: that sense of finding an equal, someone who’ll meet the other point by point, blow by blow, and that’s what it feels like when their bodies move together, that thing Erik things of as their souls--steel meeting steel, unbreaking, unbending, and dear God, is it any wonder that he’s in love with this man, with his ridiculous certainty and misplaced optimism and his unwavering desire to peer past Erik’s mask, to know the man beneath the surface and adore the monster he finds beneath.

_Darling_ , _you’re not a monster_ . A trail of stars through his thoughts, a gentle, bright light. _You’re you_. _Other men would have crumbled beneath what was done to you; you didn’t. Don’t you think that says something about your will, the strength of your soul? Because I do. I do_.

There’s a wet press at his entrance, a firm, greedy shove. Two fingers sliding in, arching.

_You don’t have to be steel all the time. Not for me. I like you like this, pinned and full. Do you feel how full you are, darling? That’s it, just open yourself. Open, that’s right. Let yourself open for me_.

**Charles.** His own thought, too loud in his head. **Need you**    **I need--**

A ripple of affection cut through with desire. _I’m right here. Right here. Can you feel me? You can, can't you? Even without using your hands._

There are tears on his face, he can feel them. Charles can see them. But that’s ok. It’s all right.

_You can, can’t you? Oh, darling, that’s good, isn’t it? Hmmm? You’re ok. You’re all right._

And then he is, he _is_ , because Charles is inside him, his cock too hot and too much and perfect, perfect. 

“Oh, god,” Charles says aloud, the sound of shattered glass. “Fuck me. That’s too much. Fuck. _Fuck_.”

He crumples, does Charles Xavier, bows his head and lays flat their chests, and pumps his hips, gasping, too hard and too fucking fast and it’s everything that Erik’s ever wanted: to feel smothered, to feel safe, to feel so full of something that isn’t his pain or his fury or his fear that he doesn’t know himself in the same way, that he feels like a different man, one capable of love. One who craves it.

“Erik,” Charles pants. “You can love. You are loved. It’s all right to want that.”

Erik turns his head and they find each other, ragged and wet.

_It’s all right_ , Charles says in his head. _It’s ok, my darling. I love you. It’s all right. It’s all right._

When the pleasure comes, it’s so swift that it’s almost unbearable, so thick and overpowering that he can’t do anything but shatter, a supernova, a perfect catalyst of heat and light, and best of all is the cascade it sets off, the earthquakes that answer him in Charles’s body, his thoughts, in the silent gasp of that flushed, gorgeous mouth.

_Erik_ , Charles’s mind says again and again. _Erik. Erik, my love_.

Then Erik’s hands are his again and he’s clutching Charles close, burying his face in that damp, wild hair. They’re both shaking.

“You are,” Charles says when time stops standing still, “extraordinary, darling. Did you know that?”

“I had an inkling.”

Charles laughs. “Did you now? All that and modest, too.”

“You’d not have it any other way.”

“No,” Charles murmurs. He kisses Erik’s chest, rubs his face against the space above Erik’s heart. “Not at all.”

Rage will only get you so far. But where it will get you is this: a few hours of joy in Minneapolis, Minnesota, in bed with the one person in nearly 20 years who’s made you want to remember what it’s like to love life.

“I love you,” Eric whispers when he’s sure Charles is asleep, when the night’s grown quiet and the man is curled tight in his arms. “I hope you know that.”

A smile in his mind, one he can feel shadowed on his cheek. _I do, my darling. Believe me. I do._


End file.
